Punking Potter

Dear Diary,

Chris could not be more right about the assbackwardness of the magical world.

My mom owled last night to tell me that All the Right Moves was on TBS. That’s when I made the horrible discovery that there are no TVs at Hogwarts. Now I understand why Chris complains about not being able to watch Designing Women. I thought he meant he couldn’t watch it because Jean Smart left.

No television. No video games. There isn’t even a Meijer in the U.K. I wanted to finish out public school in the U.S. and then go to Alabama University of Magic, or even Lorain Community Necromancy College, but oh no, my dad had to get himself transferred to Tallyhoville, and I got an owl inviting me to join the cast of Brideshead Revisited. I’ve never been to an American institute of magic, but I’d bet my future left tit there are vending machines and a forgiving attendance policy.

Halloween was kind of a bust, but I had fun. Chris and I looked completely bomb-ass, even if we did get made fun of. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand I had my mouth on Squirrely’s! Although, I think I might have breathed into him a little too hard, because he burped right on my tongue and it tasted like daal. McGonners gave me a glare that would wither Devil’s Snare. I think she has a problem with me loving a brown man.

Also, Chris doesn’t know this yet, but HP is about to get served. How, you ask? Well, not half an hour ago, I was heading back from the Forbidden Forest with some stuff Chris asked me to pick for DOPES. As I passed the gamekeeper's cottage, I heard Hagrid yell, “Ahoy! Where ye be goin’, matie?”

“Oh, just out for a walk,” I replied pleasantly.

Then the oaf wanted to know why I was covered in dog hair. Not, “What are you doing with all those hallucinogenic plants in your arms?” but, “Why are you covered in dog hair?” I didn’t want to tell him that I’d been playing on the third floor and come across a three-headed Rottie mix that was throwing coat like crazy.

“Transfiguration,” I replied.

He beckoned me to sit beside him on the stoop.

That’s when he started spilling his guts like a thirteen-year-old girl at a sleepover. He told me all about his love for HP. “Aaaarg, I know he be young, but this is the real thing, the stuff the Greeks spoke of.” I tried not to vom, and patted his shoulder. “I jus’ don’t know how ter tell ‘im. Wha’ would a hero like ‘im want with a shaggy ‘alf giant like meself? Why, I got ‘airs thick enough ter strangle a leopard on me—”

“Don’t worry,” I cut him off. “There are ways to get what you want.”

“Like ‘ow?”

“Why don’t you start by inviting him over some evening for dinner?”

“I never thought of that.”

“Then, you’re going to want to gain his confidence. Share a secret with him. Something you know you probably shouldn’t tell him.”

“Like what?”

“It has to be something that will really rock his world. When my dad told me he didn’t love my mom anymore, I was like, oh, hold on while I put on my ‘surprised’ face. But when he told me he sort of liked Jewel, we grew closer than ever.”

“Maybe I could tell ‘im about the Sorcerer’s Stone I got out of the vault at Gringott’s when I took ‘im therrrre to pick up ‘is gold.”

“Good idea,” I said.

“An’ how it’s guarded by a three-headed dog!”

“That’s just getting—wait a minute. That dog’s guarding the Sorcerer’s Stone?”

“Ye know about the dog?”

I was too surprised to tell anything but the truth. “I found it this afternoon. I named it Edelweiss, because it sleeps like my mother after two Flexoril when I sing selections from The Sound of Music.”

“’is name’s Fluffy,” said Hagrid. “And ye shouldn’t be playin’ with him. But go on.”

“Okay, once Harry trusts you, try slipping a couple crushed leaves of this into his pumpkin juice.” I handed Hagrid one of the plants I carried.

“Will it make ‘im love me?”

“No, it will make him pass out.”

“And then I—?”

“Then he’s yours. And if you dab a little of this around his nostrils before he wakes up—” I snapped a stalk off another plant and showed Hagrid the clear liquid inside. “—he should have no memory of the event whatsoever.”

“Shiver me timbers! Jill, ye’ve saved me sanity.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “But good luck.”

I hurried back to the common room to tell Chris, but Chris was passed out next to an empty bottle of gin wrapped in an unconvincing SmartWater label. I’m just waiting for him to wake up so I can tell him about playing the prank of the century on HP.

Quidditch match tomorrow. Ooha-ooha!

Love,

Jill